


“Wuthering grass”, a SW vignette for my OC character Nagina

by AzureAngel2



Series: Tyrian purple, a vignette collection concerning Palpatine´s niece (my OC) [3]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9356555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAngel2/pseuds/AzureAngel2
Summary: Summary: On a bright summer's day a powerful Sith lord is faced with the miracle of birth. He not aware of it yet, but this event will trigger in him the wish to create life itself with Sith alchemy and unnatural magic.Time frame: The story takes place 59 BBY.Planet of choice: NabooDisclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company





	

 

**Title:** _“Wuthering grass”_ , a Nagina vignette

_With every waking breath I breathe_  
_I see what life has dealt to me_  
_With every sadness I deny_  
_I feel a chance inside me die_

  
_Give me a taste of something new_  
_To touch to hold to pull me through_  
_Send me a guiding light that shines_  
_Across this darkened life of mine_

  
_Breathe some soul in me_  
_Breathe your gift of love to me_  
_Breathe life to lay 'fore me_  
_Breathe to make me breathe_  
_For every man who built a home_  
_A paper promise for his own_  
_He fights against an open flow_  
_Of lies and failures, we all know_

  
_To those who have and who have not_  
_How can you live with what you've got?_  
_Give me a touch of something sure_  
_I could be happy evermore_

  
_Breathe some soul in me_  
_Breathe your gift of love to me_  
_Breathe life to lay 'fore me_  
_To see to make me breathe_

  
_Breathe your honesty_  
_Breathe your innocence to me_  
_Breathe your word and set me free_  
_Breathe to make me breathe_

  
_This life prepares the strangest things_  
_The dreams we dream of what life brings_  
_The highest highs can turn around_  
_To sow love's seeds on stony ground_

  
_Breathe_  
_Breathe_

  
_Breathe some soul in me_  
_Breathe your gift of love to me_  
_Breathe life to lay 'fore me_

  
_To see to make me breathe_  
_Breathe your honesty_  
_Breathe your innocence to me_  
_Breathe your word and set me free_  
_Breathe to make me breathe_

 

The child is ridiculously small. You expected it to be bigger, more impressive. It sure is no Sith warrior clad in armour, ready to serve your bidding. It is just a baby girl. And she is covered in blood and the remains of the amniotic sack. Remains that stick to her skull like a cap.

 

The fingers of your right hand wander over the tiny head, while you hold the neck in a safe grip.

 

_A skullcap._

 

You remember that word from a fairytale that the nanny once read to your younger brothers and sisters. It had been about an evil king who was foretold that he would be destroyed by a child born under a lucky star.

 

You smirk, your eyes narrowing.

 

From your experience there is no such thing as a lucky star. Man forges his own destiny. And you are busy doing just that.

 

Even before your Master came along and took you on as his disciple, you had shown great interest in the ways of the Sith. Their knowledge is the key to turn you into the most important being in this galaxy. In the end you will be the master of them all.

 

Today though you take a break from all that scheming and constructing.

 

Carefully, you start cleaning the baby, who does not mind the warm summer breeze on her naked skin. Or the wuthering grass sea around her. She seems quite happy and contend. And, on top of all, she blindly trusts you. Which is a stupid thing to do. You are sorrow. You are seething hate.

 

To be honest to yourself, you prepared for this delivery, even though you are not the father. You are just the child's uncle. But this should have not been a reason for you to take responsibility. This is the first time in your life that you want to do something unselfish, something kind. You expect nothing from it, but while you hold the girl you are already given so much back.

 

Strange, unknown emotions stir in you, making you hope that they are just temporary and do not divert your course, which is set so firmly towards the ultimate success.

 

You look around, even scan the surroundings with the Force. But there is just you, the mother and the new born.

 

This area of the Lake Country is sparsely inhabited.

 

Nobody will know, nobody must know.

 

You risk a lot here, but you consider it a payback for old Cosinga, the man you should call _'father'_.

 

A mean smirk appears on your lips at the very thought of the overweight patriarch, who considers himself to be in charge still. He is very wrong about a lot of things.

 

You continue to clean the blood covered baby body thoroughly, nurse the point where you had to cut of the umbilical cord.

 

The girl has blue eyes like all new born, but you are sure that her eye colour will gradually change. Medical reports and other scientific resources told you they will. You cannot wait to see the end result with your own eyes.

 

Normally, you are more patient. As a Sith you have to be. You and your Master have great plans for the Republic and their guardians, the Jedi Order. Haste will cause you sloppiness. Sloppiness might destroy the on-going processes. You have learned that revenge is a dish that is best served cold.

 

This is why old Cosinga is still alive. When you were seventeen there was a moment, where you had been close to rip him apart with your dark powers. You could have slaughtered the rest of your useless, overbearing family, too. But you have not done that either. Instead you have spent the past six years destroying their lives in more subtle ways, archiving the most satisfying results.

 

You were the only one able to leave Convergence and to get a little apartment in Theed. Your siblings on the other hand had to move back to your parents, some of them even bringing their off-spring with them.

 

From your own bitter experiences you know how old Cosinga deals with children. But you do not mind to pass the torch on to the next generations of House Palpatine. They will be the last anyway.

 

You gaze down on your niece and continue to cradle her in your arms, even though this makes your Sith robe dirty. Why you have to wear it in day light you do not know. Somehow you felt saver putting it on, before smuggling Mandré and her huge bulk of a belly outside. The two of you met at the edge of the property. Once inside your speeder you told her to lie down flat and put a blanket over her. Then you started the engines and left the property as quickly as you could.

 

The emergency pack for the actual birth had been stored in the trunk weeks ago. You did your maths, as always.

 

Your half-sister, Mandré, looks up to you, her features worn from all the recent efforts. Somehow you are somewhat proud of her going through with the procedure without much complaint. Under the harsh regiment of old Cosinga she learned to be silent. A skill that you too appreciate.

 

“Sheev,” she breathes your name.

 

You are aware of what she is about to ask you. Since day one in the herb garden you thought of it very hard. “I would be very cruel to deny my niece her name, wouldn't I?” you consider.

 

Mandré does not complain or argue in any way, just gazes at you in the same calm manner that she always does.

 

You are aware that you have no choice but to keep your word. Especially now that you hold this little bundle of flesh and bones pressed against your chest.

 

As a tradition-loving Naboo man you cannot ask her who the father is. And you have no reason to squeeze the secret out of her as a Sith lord.

 

You scan the face of your niece. Her father can be everybody on the family estate: the gardener's son, the _sous-chéf de cuisine_ , the first footman. The list is endless. In the end you do not need the name of the man who sired her, perhaps you do not even want to know. You are here in his place and will recognize her arrival into the universe. As is the custom.

 

You swore to yourself that it will be Anakin in case of a boy, which means _'warrior'_.

 

But now that it is a girl, you will give her something nicer and more peaceful. If your Master ever hears about it, he will fry you both with Force lightening. The baby and you.

 

“Nagina,” you decide. “It means _'pearl'_ in some regions of this galaxy and _'star'_ in others.”

 

“Thank you!”

 

Mandré closes her eyes, grateful and tired. Of course you have seen to her as well. You cannot have your half-sister bleed to death on a meadow, close to the most sacred river of Naboo. That you are a Sith does not mean that you are devious all the time. Not when it does not suit you. Not today on this exceptionally bright Naboo summer day. Not in front of your niece.

 

You kiss Nagina on her brow. She gurgles happily.

 

Soon enough she will learn the hard way what it means to be loved by a Sith, leave alone to be raised by one.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:  
> The lyrics of the song “Breathe” by Midge Ure (1996 )  
> The Russian fairytale "The Luck Child", as once seen in episode 3 of the children TV series "The Storyteller" (1988) by Jim Hendson  
> The novel "Star Wars: Darth Plagueis" by James Luceno (2012)  
> Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki  
> Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia


End file.
